


Bar Stories

by tailgatingMinibot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tailgatingMinibot/pseuds/tailgatingMinibot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything can happen in a bar - from fun games to weird meetings and fights. Swerve's is not any different.</p>
<p>A set of short stories, MTMTE Season 1 timeline. Moslty gen with mentions of different pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peeling

Ambulon rarely visited Swerve’s without any company, along with the other places where autobots tended to gather for whatever activities. Autobots were a fraction of sweet-sparked good guys, sure, but somehow there would be always a few of those who didn’t like him. That Swerve could get – being a decepticon at one point wasn’t something everyone’s going to forget anytime soon, even after the war. So it was no surprise that when Ambulon actually did visit his bar it was always in company, First Aid being his drinking buddy in most cases, rarely flanked with those who two medics managed to befriend during their short time on the Lost Light.

But that evening was different. Swerve was surprised to see Ambulon heading to the barstand all by himself. “What, you don’t feel like sharing a drink tonight?” Bartender grinned at the newcomer and fetched a glass.

“First Aid is on shift, and I wanted to have something more appealing than plain ration,” Ambulon confessed. “Make that burn.”

Swerve couldn’t have but to notice how the medic keeps flickering optics left and right nervously. He set Ambulon’s drink in front of him and opened his mouth to ensure his nervous customer that no harm would be brought to him in this bar, but then there were familiar blue pincers on Ambulon’s shoulder.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Smells of decepticon,” Whirl all but chirped in mock-friendly tone. Ambulon made a move to step away which only made the pincers on his shoulder clench harder. “Whoa, leaving already? What about your drink?”

“Leave him alone, Whirl,” Swerve flapped at him with a cleaning cloth, then turned to Ambulon. “Just ignore him, he can’t do anything to you in my bar.” 

Medic glanced nervously at the helicopter bot still gripping his shoulder. Guessing buy his faceplate, Swerve’s words did nothing to soothe him.

“Okay, relax, I’m just fooling you, er…”

“Ambulon,” Swerve reminded.

“Right.” Whirl nodded and let go of medic’s shoulder going for his glass instead. Swerve, unfazed, began to fill another, while Whirl leaned on the bar stand with his elbow and turned his only optic to Ambulon. “So, how do you like it here? Better than Delphi? Worse than the ‘cons?”

“Uhhh.” Ambulon gave a longing look at the exit direction. He knew where questions like this usually led. Swerve may not mean him any harm, but bar was almost full at this time, there would be no surprise if someone joins in to bully him alongside Whirl. Most autobots saw nothing wrong in harming ex-cons.

Whirl still looked at him, awaiting an answer. Swerve stayed close still, defiantly polishing empty glass after he was done setting up a new drink for Ambulon, apparently not wanting to leave him alone with the ‘copter. Ambulon sighed.

“Worse than at Delphy, better than the decepticons,” he replied, taking a sip from the curly straw in his glass.

“There’s one thing I wanted to know.” Whirl leaned closer to him, and Ambulon had to force himself to stay in place instead of miserably running back to medbay. But then he realized that Whirl wasn’t looking at his face but rather at his shoulder. He squinted and noticed little purple spot framed with flakes of overpaint that was the subject of Whirl’s attention. “Why won’t you repaint yourself properly?”

“I never had time for that,” Ambulon answered. “I didn’t want to repaint at all, but it’s still better choice than friendly fire.” 

Whirl held his pincers to the spot, claws flinching, stopping mere inches above.

“This pisses me off,” he almost growled, raising his voice with every word. “Your fragging spots piss me off! One or two spots I can get, but it’s all over! How can you stand that?! Ooohh, how I wish to just grab you and!..”

Ambulon flinched and offlined his optics, bracing yourself for the punch, but it never came. When he had a courage to look he witnessed Whirl with pinpoint accuracy pinching one of the overpaint flakes around the spot and pulling. Paint strained, peeled and came off, leaving white flake in Whirl’s claws, making him sigh with satisfaction.

“Whoa, let me try!” asked Swerve, who was watching in some kind of awe, and reached for the closest spot on Ambulon’s arm. He peeled a little flake of paint and sighed, too. “This is so…”

“…relaxing,” Whirl hissed, peeling another one.

Ambulon just sat there for a moment, absolutely stunned by two autobots gleefully peeling paint from his arms. Slowly he calmed down, then relaxed, deciding it’s way better than being beaten up. Besides, they didn’t really interfere with his drinking, only Whirl hissing every time Ambulon moved his arm when he was trying to catch another flake to peel. 

When First Aid appeared at Swerve’s, worried over Ambulon’s long absence, he was surprised to find his friend nodded off at the bar stand, surrounded by Whirl, Swerve and Trailcutter, enthusiastically peeling paint off his back. Rude bots were shooed, drowsy medic – driven back to medbay and properly repainted the next day. It’s sad to say his new paint even being good and strong didn’t stay on for long, but that’s another story.


	2. Truth or Dare

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“The most dirty thing you ever done?”

“Oh, that’s a good question! One time I was… Well, on organic planets there are areas called swamps. It consists of water and liquid mud mostly, only it’s not really mud. You see, when plant organics dies it then starts to rot and…”

“Ugh, eww! Please stop.”

Swerve barely stoped himself from making a frustrated noise. The bar was almost empty, but still full enough to stop him from abandoning his work and go join the game to show them how it’s done. When last noisy group of bots finally headed to the exit, only leaving Skids and Rung sitting quietly at the corner table, Swerve left bar stand behind and hurried to the player’s table.

“Stop, stop!” he exclaimed, waving around and gathering everyone’s attention. “I can’t stand to look at you, butchering an awesome game like that. ”

“You know this game?” Hound looked at him, surprised. “How? You never were at Earth, were you?”

“I don’t have to visit game’s origin planet to know you’re doing it wrong,” Swerve objected, getting himself a chair. “This game has so much drama potential, and you… amateurs.” 

“Uh-oh, when Swerve gets serious there’s no chance there won’t be trouble,” smiled Drift.

“We didn’t mess it up that bad, did we?” Tailgate asked, looking a bit worried.

“The more people playing the better!” Trailcutter cheered, raising his glass abruptly. Cyclonus hissed, wiping drops of engex from his plates. “Oops, sorry.”

“What exactly we did wrong?” asked Atomizer.

“Everything!” Swerve declared. “This is no game for giggles and friendly pats. When you play something like this, you should ask for truths heavy enough to shake! And truths should be real truths otherwise what’s the point? So the first thing is – everyone tells the truth. And without any clever tricks and double meanings like with the swamp thing. That was clever reply though.”

Hound tried to complain but was shushed immediately.

“Second thing – you!” Swerve pointed at Cyclonus. “You either play or leave. There’s no spectators in a game like this.”

Tailgate glanced at his roommate nervously, but to his surprise Cyclonus didn’t even moved, content to stay. Swerve gave himself a mental Rodimus star – the scary old guy with one horn worried too much for his innocent minibot to leave him alone in a company playing potentially dangerous games.

“And the third thing,” Swerve leaned back and clasped his hands. “You must think of dares that would leave ship gossiping weeks after.”

“Swerve, it’s just for fun, it doesn’t need to be so… intense,” Drift said softly.

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later for showing you where the real fun is,” Swerve grinned. “Let’s start!”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Tailgate murmured, trying to seem smaller. Cyclonus made a disdainful noise in reply.

“I just joined so I’ll chose first.” Swerve looked around the table and stared straight at Cyclonus. “Cyclonus, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he replied with the most dismissive tone hinting at his opinion of the game itself and Swerve in particular.

“Great!” Swerve’s grinned even wider. “Maybe you’ll help me to win a bet. Tell me, how many times you ‘faced Tailgate?”

“What?!” mentioned white and blue minibot clutched own helm in panic. “What kind of question is that?! You can’t ask something that involves others--”

“Twice,” Cyclonus replied calmly, making Tailgate sputter and pause, staring at him in shock.

“Why did you tell them?!” 

“Finally!” Drift cheered, gathering questioning looks. “Oh, it’s just… I was hoping it’ll turn out fine for them… nevermind.”

“Twice, eh?” Swerve chuckled. “I lost my bet, I was betting ten. You guys should up the tempo.”

“Why do you even bet about something like that?” Tailgate whined.

“My turn,”Cyclonus’s voice cut him off. “Hound, truth or dare?”

“Huh, guess I’m lucky,” green bot smiled a bit nervously. “Dare.”

“Go over to the far wall, put a glass on you head and stay like that until Atomizer hits it with an arrow,” Cyclonus folded his hands and leaned back. Swerve gave him thumbs up.

“Nice! Not as bad as it could be, but yeah, that’ll do it.”

“On my head?” asked Hound, now looking nervous for real. “Can’t I hold it on the raised hand or something?”

“Oh, don’t worry, that’s a piece of oil cake.” Atomizer already had bow and arrow in hand. “I’ll shoot it off in one click!”

“Yeah, right,” Hound murmured, remembering walls of the training room, spangled with arrows. He sighed loudly, got an empty glass from the nearest table and headed to the far wall, stopping there and setting glass on the top of his helm. To his horror, Atomizer didn’t even bother to come closer. He rised his bow, aimed and… the arrow plunged into the wall on the right of Hound’s head. Hound flinched, almost dropping the glass.

“Shoot it in one click, yeah?” he shouted from where he stood.

“Hey, it’s no big deal. So it’s higher and more to the right.” Atomizer reached for another arrow. Behind him Swerve and Trailcutter snickered.

“No big deal, sure, but if anything happens you would be the one explaining our CMO why I have an arrow in my head!” Hound warned and braced himself.

Maybe today he indeed was lucky, because the second arrow did hit the glass, making almost all players cheer and allowing relieved bot to return to his seat.

“My turn,” he said, calming down rapidly now that the risk of being shot in the head ceased. “Hmmm… Atomizer, truth or dare?”

“Is that a revenge? You want to make me pay for not shooting it at the first try, aren’t you?” archer asked curiously. “Dare.”

“Slap Rung to the face,” said Hound. Bots at the table fell silent. Everyone gave careful glances at the table in the corner of the bar, where mentioned psychologist and Skids were still absorbed in a quiet talk. 

“You want me to slap… Rung?” Atomizer repeated a bit shocked. “Kind and polite Rung, who did nothing wrong ever? Slap to the face?”

“Well…” Hound looked slightly confused. “It doesn’t need to be too hard.”

“Woah,” Swerve smirked. “And I thought I would be the only one giving awesome dares. Beaten by a good guy Hound. That’s one pit of a dare. What do you say, Atomizer? Ready to give up?”

“I… but Rung’s… fine,” Atomizer stood up. “But I’m telling him who’s dare it was.”

The rest of them watched as Atomizer made his way to Rung’s table. He stopped right next to him and said something – it was impossible for players to hear? But whatever archer said made both Skids and Rung give him weird looks. Then Atomizer rised his hand and gave psychologist light but firm slap on the cheek. Skids’s reaction was immediate. He punched Atomizer, knocking him out, which left poor bot lying unconscious on the ground. Skids slowly turned to look at the players, who hurried to sit straight and look away as if they had nothing to do with what just happened.

“That was awesome idea, Hound,” Swerve whispered, holding back chuckle. “The sight was perfect.”

“I feel kind of sorry for both Rung and Atomizer though,” Tailgate whispered in reply.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have guts to slap him, even lightly,” Drift agreed.

“That’s a nice thing to hear,” someone said loudly behind him, and everyone except Cyclonus flinched –there were Skids, with a scowl on the faceplate and folded arms. “What are you even doing?”

“Playing truth or dare,” Swerve tried to bribe his friend with a smile. “It so happened that Atomizer became a victim of Hound’s dare. You wanna join? You can have his turn if you want.”

Skids looked back, and everyone saw that Rung was helping Atomizer to get up. Psychologist waved Skids off, making him sigh.

“Rung will take care of him,” Skids said, sitting down on Atomizer’s chair. “And since you so gracefully got rid of my date, I might as well play.”

“Pick a bot then,” Swerve nudged.

“Tailgate, truth or dare?” said Skids after moment pause.

“Dare,” replied minibot firmly, determined to not let others ask anything else about his private life.

“Sit on Cyclonus’s shoulders until someone picks you again,” said theoretician, making Tailgate clutch at own helm for the second time this evening.

“That’s not fair, why should my and Cyclonus’s dares and truths involve both of us—ahh!?” There were strong hands with claws that lifted him up, and in the next moment Tailgate perched up on Cylonus’s shoulders. He was so surprise he had to clutch at Cyclonus’s only horn for balance. “Would you please stop playing along?”

“Is it me or Cyclonus is actually enjoying himself?” Drift whispered to Skids, side-eyeing old bot’s straight faceplate. Skids only stifled his chuckle in reply. Though most of the other players were laughing out loud.

“You two look so cute!..” Trailcutter managed between giggles.

“Come on, Tailgate, stop pouting,” Hound smiled at grumpy minibot. “That’s not as bad as being shot at.”

“Or being slapped in the face,” Swerve added.

“Swerve, truth or dare?” growled Tailgate, sucsessfuly mimicking his roommate’s tone at the beginning of the game.

“Truth,” Swerve smirked.

“Tell us about the most shameful thing you ever did.”

“Are you sure? There’s a big list of--”

“No,” Tailgate interrupted. “I mean something you did that still makes you feel bad. Something you wish you never done. Something so bad you may hate yourself for it.”

There was silence around the player’s table once again, and everyone looked at the bartender. Still smiling slightly, Swerve opened his mouth to reply with a joke, but then huffed, changing his mind.

“See, this is why you’re bad at this game. This question is no fun at all. But you made me squirm so I guess it’s fair enough,” he stared at Tailgate. “I did a lot of stupid things I wish I never did, but I guess shooting Rung was the worst. Can’t blame it on the captain, too. It was my finger on the trigger and my stupid aiming.” 

Tailgate noded, satisfied with the answer. Swerve smiled again. Maybe the question was not so fun to hear but at least now Tailgate seemed to better get the game’s main goal of making other players suffer.

“Okay, back to the fun stuff,” Swerve said. “Trailcutter, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” mentioned bot replied without a pause, finishing his drink.

“Worst interface you ever had?”

There was a collective groan. “Do we even want to know?” Hound winced.

“Hmmm, well there were that one time with Siren,” Traicutter said thoughtfully. “Wasn’t all that bad, but I blew my audios in the process…”

“Was that before the flight? Because I’m sure the whole ship’d have heard that, and I don’t remember something this interesting happening,” Swerve mused. 

“I don’t really wanna know,” Tailgate muttered. “And you should stop with the creepy interface truths, Swerve.”

“Why? Your grimaces are amusing, how can I stop after that?” Swerve grinned. “But okay. ‘Cutter, choose a bot.”

“Drift, truth or dare?” Trailcutter asked after little pause.

“Dare,” Drift shrugged. “There’s nothing you could make up that would really bother--”

“Kiss Ultra Magnus.”

“—me… WHAT?!” in his surprise Drift leaned back. “You want me to…”

“Go and kiss Ultra Magnus. On the mouth. Deep.” Trailcutter said, word by word. Drift’s expression was so priceless Swerve couldn’t help but laugh, most of the players joining him. Maybe all those rumors about Ultra Magnus secretly hating the swordsmech were true after all.

“That’s it! Trailcutter wins! It’s the best dare of the evening,” bartender choked in between laughs. “I want to see this!”

“Me too,” Hound snorted. “Preferably from afar. Or better yet - in the video, just to be safe.”

“What are you afraid of?” Trailcutter nudged him with a grin, watching as Drift tried to disappear, leaning on the table and hiding faceplate in his palms. “Drift would do all the kissing, not you. And we can always run if Mags get angry.”

“You think he won’t get angry?!” Drift exclaimed desperately, looking up from his hands. “He will destroy me!”

“Don’t be overdramatic,” Swerve waved him off. “You can always go hide behind Rodimus.”

Drift laughed nervously and hid behind his hands again.

“Don’t even think of skipping it,” Skids warned.

“Yeah, you’re the only one left unharmed,” Tailgate agreed.

“I just want to see Mags’s face, ” Trailcutter grinned.

Drift looked at them through fingers and then stood up.

“Fine! You want me to do it? I’ll do it! But you’ll have to deal with aftermath, and don’t tell me I didn’t warn you,” he said and headed to the exit. The rest of the group followed him.

They traveled through the ship, stopping next to Ultra Magnus’s office door. Which of course meant there was only Drift next to the door, and all of the others were hiding behind nearest corner. Drift vented harshly and pressed intercom button.

“Magnus, it’s Drift. I need your help with some business.”

Surprisingly, there were a slight pause, and then somewhat reluctant reply. “Drift? I’m busy. Come back after the shift.”

Drift questioningly looked back at his hiding friends. Swerve silently gestured at him to go on. Swordsmech covered optics with his palm for a moment and pressed the button again. 

“This is urgent, I’m coming in.”

“What? No, wait--”

Ignoring office owner’s words Drift used his access code to open the door and stepped in. It took him one look to see why SIC didn’t want to let him in. Sitting at his desk, Ultra Magnus had the captain of the Lost Light on his lap. They held one another, and their optics were just a bit brighter than usual, and all in all Drift quickly realized this was really wrong time to come in. Startled couple stared at him, shocked, and swordsmech raised a hand in greetings feeling completely stupid.

“This won’t take long. I just need to do something real quick,” he said and strode forward swiftly.

“Drift, what the frag are you doing?!” Rodimus resented, but then was put out even more when his friend pushed him off Magnus’s lap and to the floor. “Ow! Hey!”

“I’m really, really sorry,” Drift confessed, jumped up to where Rodimust just been, tugged speechless Magnus by the helm and crashed their lips together. 

There were loud cheering from the exit direction, and when Rodimus looked that way he managed to notice the bots peering in from the side – Swerve, Trailcutter and somehow above both of them Tailgate.

In the end Swerve’s bar got closed for a week, the three spotted bots and Drift got additional work shifts as a punishment, Truth or Dare was officially banned, and Lost Light was full of fantastic gossip for a long time after, which to Swerve’s opinion was an evidence of game’s complete success.


	3. Kids Table

“Do you have any idea what it is about?”

“Nope,” Rewind shrugged and looked over at his endura. “What do you think, Domey?”

The mentioned shook his head in reply making both Tailgate and Rewind sigh in frustration. Not a while ago both minibots received similar message from Swerve inviting them to the bar. The message stated there was a present for every minibot on board. Tailgate met the pair halfway there and joined them so they could share the thoughts on what Swerve could’ve possible come up with this time. They ran out of ideas pretty fast.

“Maybe it’s just free drinks?” Tailgate thought aloud. “Or some holiday like, Minibot Day or something?”

“Never heard of that one,” Rewind tapped his headcam. “My database has no information on similar holidays or any events dedicated to minibots in particular. There must be something else.”

“Let’s find out when we arrive,” Chromedome said. “It’s probably something silly.”

When they entered Swerve’s, there was a crowd in a far corner. The three of them made their way to see what the noise is all about – Tailgate stopping momentary to wave at lone Cyclonus at the bar stand and hurrying after his friends. In the center of the crowd stood the object of everyone’s attention. Tailgate and Rewind got closer and gasped in unison.

“This is…”  
“It can’t be.”

“Aha, you’re finally here!” Swerve beamed at them and gestured at the object. “Dear customers, especially the short ones, let me introduce you to the Swerve’s newest and most awesome upgrade so far – The Minibot Table! A table for minibots!”

And there it was, for real – in the center of the crowd was nothing but a simple table, just reduced to needed size. A size perfect for any of the minibots present.

“Uhhhh,” Tailgate finally spoke over muted whispers, turning to face Swerve. “But why? What’s wrong with the usual tables?”

“Oh, you know nothing yet, my little ancient friend,” Swerve hugged him with one hand around the shoulders. “This table is awfully comfy. Try it and you wouldn’t sit anywhere else unless someone drags you away. ”

“Sure would happen if he gets drunk on Nightmare Fuel again,” someone added, and goodhearted chuckles crumbled through the crowd.

“What’s the point of it anyway? Usual tables are universal size with adjustable chairs, minibots can use them just fine,” Chromedome grumbled.

“Don’t organic races make little furniture for their infants?” Hound mused and caused more laughing.

“Table for the Shortlings and Weaklings,” Whirl concluded and was supported with more laugher and cheers.

“Don’t listen to these goons,” Swerve butted in stubbornly. “This is a special table for special bots! Elite club with no place for rude giant--”

“Actually…” Swerve got interrupted, and when he looked over he saw Tailgate sitting at the “elite club” table. “Actually, it IS really comfy.”

“Huh, you’re right,” Pipes agreed. He was wearing a doubtful look which disappeared as soon as he sat down at minibot table. Other short bots stepped forward, and new reviews came one after another.

“Feet can actually rest on the floor. And less trouble with sitting down.”  
“I can reach the tabletop easily, even can rest elbows on it!..”  
“So that’s how being bigger size feels like…”

“Sitting at usual-sized tables can’t be that bad, can it?” Hound said confused, sounding a thought in everyone’s processors.

Minibot-tested and approved, the little table was accepted and gained popularity in the next few days. The taller bots chuckled under their breath at first, amused by the sheer cuteness of minibot table, but soon enough they started getting envy. Not for the table itself but the company. Pretty soon the little table truly got the air of a closed club, and those who used it always looked so cheerful and happy. There was no way for tall ones to join in on the fun, though. Chromedome spent half an hour on the floor next to Rewind – the lanky legs wouldn’t let him at the table – and then gave up, returning to other talls, complaining he felt like a combiner in the Iakon Hall of Fame.

There were other tries of using the little table throughout whole week, with only and rather moderate success of Rung thanks to his modest size. At the end of the week Swerve was met by the strange company of three. Skids, Chromedome and Cyclonus awaited him at the bar stand. The bartender expected Chromedome. He was actually impressed the mnemosurgeon could endure it for so long, probably because he still got to spent most of the time with Rewind outside the bar. Cyclonus was a bit of a surprise, mainly because the purple brute never showed… anything, so it was unusual to see him react. Skids, though, was an utter mystery.

“Good day to you, sirs,” the bartender greeted them with a wide smile. “Why the long faces? Cyclonus, you don’t need to reply, I’m aware it’s your usual expression.”

“The minibot table has to go,” said Chromedome with a sullen look.  
“Today,” added Cyclonus with a frown.  
“And never come back,” concluded Skids with a grin.

“I get the sentiment, but do you guys know how much trouble I went through to acquire it?” Swerve started bending fingers. “To find someone willing to make it, pay them, find someone else to install it--” He was interrupted by the sound of three credit chips hitting the stand. “Whoa, you really want to get rid of it this much?”

“We can even help, so there’s no need to look for someone to uninstall it,” Chromedome nodded.

Swerve grumbled for a little while more, but then agreed. Even though his idea has actually become a success, he noticed how it divided the crew, even in a slight way. Plus, he liked Rewind and Chromedome and wouldn’t want anything to get between them, even if that was just a bar table. So the next day the minibot table was removed.

Swerve expected questions and complains, but what actually happened surprised him. No one was too displeased. And some were even grateful.

“So… you’re not sad about it?”  
“I am. I mean,” Tailgate fidgeted on the bar stool, “it was really comfy to sit at, but you know, I missed the other guys, like Domey and Trailcutter. I think they looked kind of down, too. Today I was going to sit with them anyway, so it’s just convenient.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Swerve placed Tailgate’s drink on the stand. “Maybe they would appreciate the minis more, now.”

“Maybe,” Tailgate chuckled and grabbed the glass, getting off the stool. “Thanks! See you later, Swerve.”

“Later,” the bartender sighed and busied himself with wiping the stand. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“You wanted the table gone. Why? Don’t you want to tell me?”

“Mmmm,” Skids hummed, savoring his own drink, elbows on the stand. “Let’s say there’s this minibot I missed drinking with.”

Swerve sputtered, the wiping rag momentary forgotten. “W-wait what? What?! Who?”

Skids took a swig of his drink, vented with satisfaction and smiled. “Won’t tell.” And with that he was up and off the stand. Swerve was following him before he was thinking.  
“You can’t leave after that, you have to tell me! Skids, I’m serious!”

Maybe that was the end of the Minibot Table, but also a start of something else.


End file.
